


Call off the search for your soul

by Graphic_Content



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Blow Jobs, Destiel - Freeform, Drug Use, F/M, Frottage, Homophobic Language, M/M, Sexual Content, Smoking, Swearing, Teen Angst, school sex, slut!castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-01-09 15:20:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Graphic_Content/pseuds/Graphic_Content
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is trying to cope with his past, but he soon comes to realise he isn't coping at all. Dean has always been interested in Castiel but too embarrassed to do anything about it. One night Dean calls Castiel a fag and, well, it all unravels from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

He knew in the back of his mind that one day he would regret standing right here; in this very spot. Actually, not the back of his mind, but the deep crevices that for whatever reason are still clinging onto some healthy self-preservation. Luckily the perks of standing in this very spot include the drowning out of those niggling thoughts. And honestly, he doubted he’s even sober enough to understand what they’re saying at this point anyway. So fuck it, may as well enjoy.

Standing barely a foot from a black speaker that’s as tall as he is, Castiel drank in the heavy vibrations he could physically feel flow through the air and into his blissed-out body. It was so unbelievably loud that he could barely make out the music, it was just coming through as one loud roar, and he fucking loved it. His eardrums were ringing in protest at the abuse and yeah maybe he’d go deaf in the future, but that was definitely a problem for future-Castiel to regret. He could feel sweat running down his back; it was warm and made his shirt stick to him uncomfortably, and it was probably a good thing he opted for the dark, tight t-shirt tonight. Jet black hair was wet and sticking down over his forehead and if he cared (and had any real voluntary control of his limbs) he would try to wipe it back off his face, but the salty sweat dripping down onto his lips was adding yet another intoxicating element to this night. He was vaguely aware of other bodies pressed into him as too many people tried to dance in the space like a fucking tin of sardines, and he was pretty sure that some of this sweat did not belong to him.

Castiel was moving his narrow hips to the bass he could feel through the subwoofer, and one of the sweaty anonymous bodies he’d felt dancing behind him for a while now got even closer to his back, as a hand snaked its way around Castiel’s body and under his shirt to sit on his hip, rubbing small circles with their thumb. Instinctively he moved backward and into the body, and the hand on his hip pulled him in flush, albeit a bit roughly (and that only got Castiel _more_ interested). The two sweaty bodies ground against each other, paying no attention to the sounds the DJ was producing and Castiel felt the stranger’s left hand find its way to his left hip, while the right hand moved its way downward. He knew he moaned, even though he couldn’t hear it, and warm puffs of air on the back of his neck sent shivers down his spine and into his cock.

Castiel made an educated guess it was a man because of the height and strength, but also because women tend not to be so forward in such a public space. Not that it really matters because he’s _so_ not picky that he was just happy the hand was getting closer to the right spot. One long, hard grind into the body sent the wandering hand to his steadily hardening cock that was trapped in his annoyingly tight skinny black jeans. It was only cupping him softly, and yes, that was Castiel whimpering at the lack of pressure being applied, because _hurry up and fucking do it_. More grinding and he was vaguely aware the song had changed because the notes were higher, but the bass stayed the same, the clichéd and tired _doof doof doof_ people get excited about hearing over and over again. The hand on his hip tightened, _and wasn’t the thought of finding finger-shaped bruises there in the morning just the hottest thing ever_ , right as the hand on his crotch tightened and began rubbing and _fucking finally_.

He became so painfully hard in his jeans that it mixed with the pleasure of the rubbing and he needed this release so desperately he was moaning in his throat like a common whore. And for Castiel that’s probably not too far from the truth. The grinding into his ass was a bit clumsier by this point, and a significant bulge could be felt against the top of his ass, and while it was very hot, it was only a fleeting thought because Castiel had just felt the button to his restricting jeans pop open. His zip was yanked down and as soon as some of the pressure was relieved he thought he could actually hear himself moan this time.

He noticed the man’s hand was having trouble fitting into his jeans and doing anything productive, between his engorged cock taking up most of the room and the fact that his jeans were impossibly tight to begin with, it barely had enough space to stroke. But once he got a firm hold of Castiel’s length, swiping his thumb over the head and stroking at any angle the denim would allow, Castiel moaned deep in his chest and felt the hand from his left hip roam under his shirt, finding his erect right nipple. It didn’t take long, only a few minutes of stroking and heavy panting on his neck, and he was arching his back and shooting his load into the man’s hand and his own briefs. And maybe that was embarrassingly quick, and maybe a few of the tightly packed bodies around them noticed the scene, but Castiel has done a lot worse and he misplaced his shame and dignity a long time ago.

Coming down from his climax, he was extremely grateful to find there was a hand on his hip, because without it his knees would have given out and he almost certainly would have fallen to the ground (he knows this from experience). Castiel felt the hand leave his pants and come up to his mouth and holy shit, this guy’s cum-covered finger was pressed against his lips and fuck if he didn’t open his slutty mouth and suck on that finger like the cock he really wanted there instead. The hand left his mouth and travelled back down to his crotch and Castiel shuddered as it cupped his soft cock for a moment before his pants were zipped up and the hand sat back on his right hip briefly, before the two hands began to push him away. He realised he was still leaning back, so Castiel straightened up and gained his balance, not bothering to look over his shoulder at the man. The hands left Castiel’s hips and he swayed on the spot, a smirk pulled on his face, and he began to move his sensitive body to the same beat that was threatening to deafen him earlier. There was some cum in his pants he could feel cooling down rapidly but he couldn’t muster enough energy to care. The heavy bass he could feel reverberate in his chest and throat was too inviting.

The songs changed a few times, and while the heavy bass was more or less a variation of the same thing, the songs alternated between top 40, hip-hop and even some classics. On a particularly annoying song Castiel moved his way drunkenly through the crowd towards the men’s toilets because he was fairly close to peeing himself and now was a good opportunity. It was a decent club, but the toilets were unimpressive. There were six stalls; two were missing doors; another two seemed to be permanently blocked and overflowing with contents almost too foul even for Castiel; one toilet was missing half of the wall dividing it from the rest of the bathroom, and you really had to wonder how that could ever possibly happen; and the last toilet was always occupied. Basically it was impossible to do anything, except maybe use the bathroom for its _intended_ purpose, unless you were lucky enough to stagger in with your partner-of-the-moment right when the one decent stall was unoccupied. Or you had zero dignity like Castiel, but unfortunately he has yet to find anyone willing to fuck him with no door on the stall. Blow jobs, sure. The women’s toilets had a better ratio of useable to unusable and he’s had better luck in there. Right now though he only had to urinate, so he pushed through the solid red door that had a large black Mars symbol crudely painted in the middle and walked past the stalls to the long metal trough.

Castiel unzipped his fly and pulled his penis out; pleasantly noting his cum hadn’t quite dried due to the intense heat. He aimed at the corner of the trough and gave a satisfied exhale at the feeling; his bladder really was quite full. Glancing to his right he noticed another stream and carried his gaze from the penis in hand, up the toned arms, then Castiel leaned back slightly to get a look at the guy’s ass. His jeans were nowhere near as tight as Castiel’s were, but they made his ass look heavenly. He heard a faint noise that sounded like throat-clearing and he lifted his eyebrows and eyesight up to the striking face; a face which he’d actually seen before. Freckles and dirty blonde hair and tanned skin and _shocking_ green eyes stared back at him and he momentarily forgot he was standing at a piss-covered trough and he was holding his cock, that still had a bit of cum on it, in his hand.

“Dean Winchester” his voice came out deep and rough, with a hint of surprise and curiosity because it wasn’t very often he saw people he knew out (and by _know_ he means know in passing, because he and Dean Winchester did not live in the same universe). His voice rang around mutely in his ears, the result of singing, screaming and standing next to the stage all night, and he wasn’t sure if Dean even heard him above the noise coming from the dance floor, but he didn’t care. They stared at each for what felt like a sufficiently socially inappropriate amount of time before Castiel wiggled his eyebrows suggestively with his ‘how about it?’ fuck-me face on. Dean’s eyes narrowed slightly and he turned up his nose, and Castiel knew what was coming; the usual homophobic, ‘it physically pains me to be in your presence’ shit that people as ignorant as Dean Winchester like to aggressively spew over everyone who wasn’t like _him_. And with a “fuck off fag”, Castiel knew he was right and Dean walked past him and out the door like a fucking child who couldn’t fucking handle himself in an uncomfortable situation. Castiel zipped his pants back up with a laugh, smirk etched on his face and he licked a little bit of cum that was on his finger off. As he walked out he saw the one good stall was unoccupied. _Fuck_.

Standing at the edge of the dance floor under a light, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and waited for the screen to come into focus. 3:30am already? Probably didn’t have time for another dance, so he made his way down the narrow carpeted stairs that had so many stains even Castiel would momentarily reconsider getting on his knees (but only for a moment), pushed past the crowd still waiting to buy drinks at the bar, and walked out the open door. The gush of cold wind that slapped him in the face was breathtaking and he felt a little bit more sober. He looked left and right, winked at the female hostess with her headset, still holding her clipboard, and she smiled and blushed at him. He didn’t really know the brunette, except that she liked anal, and that’s exactly how he gets free entry into this club. Free entry _and_ he gets laid.

He leaned against the cold brick wall a few meters down and pulled out his cigarettes from his back pocket, placed one gently between his chapped pink lips and dragged down the sparkwheel of the lighter to create the flame. The first breath of nicotine into his lungs instantly relaxed his aching body and he closed his eyes, leaning his head against the hard bricks. He formed a tiny ‘O’ with his mouth and exhaled the grey smoke into the dark night sky, savouring the acrid flavour in his mouth before dragging in more of the disgustingly addictive poisonous mix of chemicals. The hand that held the cigarette between his second and third finger pushed his sweaty black hair off his face and to the side. The air outside made the sweat all over his body feel cold, and a jacket would be really nice right now. Castiel shivered involuntarily against the hard wall and dialled the number he had memorised a long time ago for a cab.

When the yellow car pulled up Castiel sauntered over slowly, snuffed out his third cigarette underfoot and clambered into the back seat on the passenger side. The driver turned around to ask where he would like to be taken and Castiel saw the brief flash of slight disgust in his face before an exasperated sigh, like driving around fucked up teenagers in the dead of night _wasn’t_ part of his life plan. He supposed he must look pretty awful by this point though, he hadn’t slept in almost 24 hours, with the last six or so being spent dancing, and the mixture of alcohol and drugs that had been pumped through his system in that amount of time couldn’t be doing anything positive for his appearance. Or health.

“Corner of Barkley and Walker. Do you mind?” Castiel held up his cigarette pack and the driver – Edgar, according to his license - waved the back of his hand to him as he turned around to face the front. Pulling out another cigarette, he wound down the window and lit up, resting his head against the headrest and closing his eyes again, shifting down in the seat. He didn’t bother to look out the window because it’d most likely come across as a complete blur and make his stomach do pirouettes. Castiel didn’t think about much, he focused on the high-pitched ringing in his ears, and green eyes sparked across the inside of his eyelids once or twice. What he would give to be staring into those eyes while he was fucked senseless. The ringing and white noise in his head grew louder in the silence of the cab and he sucked down on that stick with so much passion as he thought about the green-eyed man’s cock in his ass, and a little groan escaped as he exhaled.

“$35.60” a voice from the front floated quietly through his damaged ears and registered slowly in his brain. He hadn’t even noticed the car had stopped. Castiel lifted his hips up off the seat; a new cigarette between his lips and eyes still closed, and pulled out a 50 dollar note from his back pocket. He took his cigarette in hand, opened the door, muttered his thanks to the driver, who still looked disgusted in a conflicting appreciative way, and closed the door before his change was given. The car drove away, the driver not even trying to insist he take his change. Maybe Edgar thought it would be compensation for having to be in such close proximity to the dirty teenager, or maybe he needed it to go scrub clean his backseat. The thought must have been funny because Castiel found himself laughing in the gutter.

He could see the seven foot tall white rendered brick fence of his house a few houses down from where he stood and he groaned and rolled his eyes, making his way reluctantly to the impressive building. It was rendered white, like the fence, and stood two stories with beautifully manicured lawns. He approached the black gates of the driveway and leaned his head against the cool metal. Coming home was always the worst part of going out, like the painful comedown from an exquisite high. His slightly trembling fingers punched in the code for the gates and they rattled apart, inviting him in to the premises they protect.

Castiel drifted up the long driveway, which curled around to his front door, and made a slight detour to the water fountain on the lawn on the other side of the driveway. A while ago he realised the hard way that he needed to hide a spare key somewhere, because through the course of a typical night for Castiel, he had a habit or losing or forgetting things. And now he rarely brought his keys with him when he went out; it’s too much of a hassle to hold onto them all night, especially when wearing the tightest jeans in existence. Those pockets are valuable real estate and he needed to save it for the important things, like his phone, money and condoms. So that’s why when he comes home, his arm is usually wet up to the elbow when he walks in the front door. Pure convenience (and a little bit of laziness).

He walked slowly along the white marbled tiles in the foyer after entering and headed towards the large staircase situated directly opposite the front door. It was one of those grand wooden staircases that were so opulent it sometimes made him cringe. The tread was painted black while the riser and stringer were white and it split into two half way up, both sides leading up to opposite ends of the next floor. Clinging onto the handrail for support, Castiel veered right and walked down the large landing to the last door on the left. It was unlocked, as it always is, because no one bothers to go in his room (and also the whole keys thing again).

It was a fairly large room with white walls and dark stained wood floorboards. The walls were sparse, a poster or two, and he really couldn’t tell you what they were of if you asked. A large queen bed sat against the wall opposite the door, slightly to the right, with coffee coloured unmade bedspread. There were large black-framed double sliding doors along the same wall as his bed that opened out onto his balcony, and they were flanked on either side by heavy brown curtains. On the right wall was a door to his ensuite and that’s where he headed first, stripping as he went and throwing clothes and shoes on the ground in his wake. He got to the bathroom stark naked and turned around to face the mirror. Oh yeah, he was right, he looked like absolute shit.

His eyes were eerily bloodshot with those weird little veins scattered around the whites of his eyes. There were stunning dark circles framing his eyes due to the paleness of his skin from sleep deprivation, his hair was matted and oily and stuck up at ridiculous angles, and lips were chapped and bitten. His neck had a couple of dark red hickies from people whose faces he can’t recall, and his eyes fell gradually from them to the small bruises that littered his pale, thin chest and thighs. Some were a few days old and he could account for probably three or four of them; at least one was from falling over and landing awkwardly on the edge of the stage, while at least two would be from repeatedly being elbowed by fellow club-goers. There was one on his left hip and he absently prodded it and thought perhaps it was from that guy with the hot breath that made him cum too fast. His arms and legs had small scratches from falling and bumping into sharp things, nothing noteworthy though; nothing that will rouse any interest from his family at least. He laughed at the small bruises on his knee caps; he knew for certain what they were from.

Castiel’s dirty and cut up hands formed a cup and scooped up cold water from the flowing tap to throw on his tired face, the hairs on the back of his neck pricking up from the splash of cold. Hands scrubbed hard and ran through his hair before he gave up and decided it’ll have to do. He couldn’t bring himself to shower because he was just too exhausted; not that showering was going to improve the overall look that dramatically, there is a limit to how presentable Castiel can be.

One more cigarette before bed sounded amazing, and imagining having a cigarette between his lips made him move just that little bit faster towards the balcony doors. Like his room, his balcony was pretty devoid of character. His mother had decorated both spaces many years ago how she liked, but over time he got rid of most of the clutter and furniture. Castiel only needed the basics. So he had two outdoor white wicker chairs with a cushion that ran from the head to the seat, and one white, slightly chipped metal frame table with an ashtray. He curled his thin legs up onto the seat and sucked on his cigarette, hollowing his cheeks. The end lit up red and he held the smoke in his lungs as long as he could, exhaling it through his nose. It eased his headache and he moaned obscenely at the feeling.

From where he was sitting he didn’t have much of a view, so he settled for staring up at the stars while the wind whipped his hair in all directions. Stars were beautiful and innocent and the ones he could see were already dead. That seemed somehow profound and he wasn’t sure what that made him feel, but he was sure he felt something.

After shuffling back into the significantly warmer bedroom, Castiel made his way over to his wardrobe because fuck that pain in his legs. No sleep and dancing all night can be a bitch. Behind the hanging shirts was a small metal frame with three drawers that held odd things like stationary and lotions, and in the bottom drawer were a couple metal tins. Just little ones, like the ones you can buy mints in. In fact most of them used to be tins of mints. He moved them around until the one he wanted came into view; one of the smaller ones with a sticker of angel wings across the front. The lid popped open with upward pressure from his thumb and two oblong-shaped white pills were coaxed into the centre of his palm. He smacked his palm against his mouth and the pills were thrown in, landing halfway along his tongue, and he dry swallowed them with ease. Like an experienced drug user.

They’d left a small amount of white powdery residue on Castiel’s hand that he stared at for a couple seconds, before running his tongue along his palm and breaking out into a smile full of teeth.

Castiel made his way to his bed and crawled ungracefully over to the right side, leaning over the edge and finding his phone charger. He struggled trying to connect the tiny charger to his phone in the dark, because did they really need to make the charger and charger port on the new model so much smaller? Somehow he managed to eventually get it in and the screen lit up. It read 4:25am. 

“Shit”. He flopped onto his back and draped an arm over his face, a mess of limbs and blankets.

Only two hours before he had to be up for school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think of Castiel. It's been a thought I'd had in my head for a while and figured I'd give it a go. I know in the summary it says Dean is trying and that conflicts with his brief appearance in this chapter, but stay tuned. The tags will probably update over time.


	2. Chapter Two

Castiel’s dreams shocked him into consciousness again, like they usually do. They’re rarely pleasant; at most he hopes for no dreams, and at the very least he just hopes he doesn’t remember them when he wakes up. His alarm hadn’t gone off yet but through bleary eyes he could see some light poking through his heavy curtains and hitting the opposite wall. He reached for his fully charged phone on his bedside table and it read 6:23am. Seven whole minutes before he had to be up; may as well spend the time relaxing.

Castiel curled his body in a backwards ‘C’ shape to work out the kinks in his back and various joints cracked with the satisfying stretch. The blanket was pulled up around his shoulders, wrapped around his naked body, and dragged with him to his balcony. Cigarettes clutched in his hand, he curled up into a fairly pathetic ball in one of the chairs and fumbled around under the blanket with lighters and cigarettes. The wind had a bite to it but it was refreshing on his face, and the peaceful atmosphere of early morning allowed him to really consider how awful he felt. His head was heavy and dull, his stomach was making gurgling noises that threatened to release its contents in either direction, and his calves and thighs still hurt, but only mildly because the painkillers were still floating around in his system.

During the second cigarette, his alarm went off. Coffee. Castiel decided yes, he needs a decent fucking coffee right now. He finished three quarters of his cigarette with deeper breaths than usual and snuffed out the rest. He threw on a pair of grey sweatpants that hung low and loose on his protruding hips.

The kitchen had a smell of freshly brewed coffee wafting up the stairs and Castiel swore he floated in on the enticing air. The room was empty but with the smell of fresh coffee he figured Michael must be up and doing something; or he may have already left for work. The latter was better because he hadn't put a shirt on and surely Michael would have a comment or two about the state of his multi-coloured chest. He poured himself an extra-large mug of black coffee, no sugar, and sat on the black stone island bench in the middle of the white kitchen. He sipped slowly with his eyes closed, savouring the way the hot bitter liquid washed away the furry, dry feeling he had in his mouth, and warmed up his throat and stomach.

“Castiel” he opened his eyes slowly and glanced over to the fridge where his older brother, Michael, leaned against it with his arms crossed. “What time did you crawl home last night?”

“Late”, and shit his voice was fucked out and came out more of a growl than an actual human voice. “And I didn’t crawl; I managed to walk this time”. Castiel’s face broke out into a small, toothy smile and Michael could only roll his eyes.

“Good night I take it?” he asked after briefly eyeing Castiel’s chest and neck.

“Average”, and that was the truth, it was pretty average.

“Yeah well, you look like shit”.

“It’s always nice when the outside reflects the inside”. Castiel slowly edged himself down from the counter top onto sore feet when Michael offered a smile. “Did you want to join me?” Castiel made his way to the sliding French doors that opened up to the outside deck and Michael followed. The deck was large and covered by a pergola, with a lounge area to the right. In the middle was a glass 10-seater table with chairs and cushions surrounding it. It overlooked the in-ground pool, grass areas and gardens of their backyard.

Castiel placed his coffee on the glass table, sat down in one of the chairs and crossed his legs under him, shivering slightly in the morning air. Michael opted to sit in a chair directly opposite Castiel, not shivering because he was already dressed for the day in a dark blue suit without the tie. The two brothers shared many similarities, like the blue eyes and black hair, but that morning they looked stark opposites: half naked, dishevelled and weak, versus Michael’s dressed professionally and groomed acceptably. He smiled when he noticed his brother’s shivering frame and arms hugging his body for warmth. Castiel stared at Michael expectantly.

“You didn’t bring your own? That’s a shame Castiel” he grinned like the frigging Cheshire cat and Castiel’s patience wavered. “I’ll share if you do” and he flickered his line of sight to Castiel’s coffee. Castiel groaned deep in his throat.

“Deal” and with that, Michael reached for a pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket as Castiel pushed his precious coffee towards the middle of the table. They didn’t smoke the same brand, but like everything else in his life, Castiel was not fussy. Michael lifted a cigarette up to his mouth and lit it with his silver lighter; breathing in to ensure it was a light, before handing it over the table to Castiel. He lit a second cigarette for himself and grabbed the coffee they were now sharing.

Castiel adjusted himself in his chair, moving to pull his knees up to this chest, because this position offered him more warmth. He knew he probably looked fairly pathetic, but it also offered him some comfort, having his legs to hold onto. He didn’t want to read too much into that. Michael slid the coffee back across the table and Castiel took a large gulp, holding it in the same hand as his cigarette.

It was pleasant, Castiel decided, sitting quietly with his older brother by a few years, the sun streaming gently in across the deck. Michael always kept his judgements of Castiel to himself and he appreciated that, only expressing concern once in a while. He could rely on Michael for a lot of things, and Michael understood why Castiel was the way he was. Castiel doesn't share with Michael what he does in his spare time, but what Michael imagined couldn’t be any worse to the truth. 

“What time is it?” Castiel broke the silence after a few minutes, deciding he should probably think about getting ready soon. The coffee was gone and Michael was reaching for a second cigarette, now detouring for his phone.

“Almost seven, you should probably get ready”.

Castiel could only huff into his knees in response.

**________________________________________**

Michael offered to take Castiel to school, and he never really did that, so Castiel concluded he must _really_ look bad today. Well, he was running on a handful of hours sleep for the past few nights and he could feel his body revolting, threatening to collapse if he didn’t get some badly needed rest. But it was okay because he scored a ride and it meant another smoking-coffee session outside before they left. Castiel had his license and even had a car that was bought for him when he turned 16, but he liked walking and was usually too intoxicated most of the time to ever get behind the wheel of a car. He knew that and Michael knew that, so Castiel settled for walking and cabs. And apparently the occasional lift when Michael thought he could drop at any moment.

He chose to wear his usual dapper skinny black jeans, black chucks and a dark green oversized sweater. They weren’t the same pants as the night before, because they were wet and stained and had a strange odour about them. His chucks were still wet from when someone spilt their drink down the front of him, though. The sweater wasn’t _that_ oversized when he bought it a few years ago, but it seems clear he’s thinner now than he was back then, and so now it hangs off his frame, exposing more of his collar bones than intended. He sprayed some dry conditioner in his hair and ran a comb through it, which disguised some of the grease and it made his hair passable in public, but it still stuck up in all directions and that was nothing unusual. His eyes were slightly red and dark bags still prominent; he looked tired.

“Don’t go out tonight, okay Castiel?” Michael said as Castiel was preparing to get out of the car. He could hear concern in Michael’s voice, but it was alright; Castiel knew his limits.

“I’ll think about it. Goodbye Michael”.

Castiel stood out the front of the school for a few minutes as Michael drove away, and he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small tin with a clock face sticker across the front. A small white pill tumbled out and he dry swallowed as he walked towards the front entrance.

**________________________________________**

Honestly, Castiel wasn’t really sure where the day had gone. He couldn’t tell you how he got from class to class or even what he did in those classes. But he did know he was slowly drifting across the front of the oval towards the car park around the side of the school, because it was one of the few places he could smoke with a low potential of being caught or being surrounded by people who have the ability to take away his nicotine high simply by speaking. He was also sure he’d been hanging out for this lunch time cigarette all day and if his sore body could move any faster, it would be.

Before Castiel had even rounded the corner he’d pulled a cigarette out of his packet, along with his lighter, and cupped his hand around the end that wasn’t in his mouth and tried to light it. There was no bench or chairs in the car park because technically students weren’t supposed to be there, so he settled for laying on the gravel, with one leg crossed over the other, and desperately sucked in, praying for that relaxing release that he felt like he would die without. Castiel only brought an apple and a large bottle of water with him, because sugar, water and nicotine was all he really needed to keep his body (and to a lesser extent his mind) going right now, and he’d worry about the rest later.

Castiel was lying in the sun, because a little sunlight on his ashen skin could never be bad, and had his eyes closed, so he didn’t really notice another boy walk around the corner and stop near his lifeless body.

“Hello darling”, Castiel didn’t need to open his eyes to recognise the owner of that British accent.

“Hello Crowley”. Crowley was always very good at sneaking up on Castiel, he swore up and down Crowley just _appeared_ on numerous occasions. But people always said he was just too high to notice the boy walk right up to him. Whatever, Castiel had his suspicions.

“Mind if I join you?”

Castiel’s response was a throaty ‘mmm’ during a particularly deep intake of smoke. Crowley took a step over Castiel and sat between him and the wall before the response was given, but Castiel knew the question was more of a courtesy than anything else anyway. They often sat quietly together at lunch, and while neither would consider the other their _friend_ , it was alright because they didn’t want friends. Their personalities were, at a fundamental level, simply unfriendly, and while Crowley preferred relationships that were more business in nature, Castiel preferred relationships that involved practically no energy or commitment on his behalf.

They never really had a conversation as such, because that involved asking questions and showing interest, but one would talk while the other listened. And sometimes they didn’t talk at all; they just sat peacefully and smoked while they ate. They both knew a lot about each other, having grown up family friends. And Castiel knew it scared both of them; the knowledge that the other could do a lot of damage. The mutual fear is what made this work, actually; it made it easy.

“Would you like some of my lunch sweetheart?” Castiel turned his head to the voice and Crowley had his lunch, a container of what looked like stir-fry and another of dark cake, opened and slightly held out towards him.

“No thank you, I have plenty” and Castiel held up his pathetic-by-comparison apple that sat on his stomach.

“Be careful Castiel, no one wants to ride a sack of bones”. Crowley had always been a bit plump, but in a way Castiel found attractive. He also always subtly pushed food on Castiel like a mother.

“I haven’t had any complaints yet”.

“Suit yourself”.

After a while of drifting the line between awake and asleep, Castiel’s nicotine cravings and Crowley’s voice on the phone forced his body to stay firmly on the awake side, so he pulled another cigarette out and lit it up. He was just over halfway through when he faintly heard footsteps approaching around the corner. Castiel quickly squashed his cigarette into the ground next to him and turned it inwards facing his palm and Crowley hung up his phone as the newcomer rounded the corner. He rolled onto his stomach so he could get a good look at whoever it was. He’d been caught smoking on school grounds too many times, and he wasn't keen to have this smoking spot compromised.

“Hey Cas”, Castiel trailed up the body, from black work boots to loose fitting blue jeans and a red plaid button-up over a grey t-shirt. And he knew that if he were staring at the back, there would be a great ass.

“Dean Winchester, how lovely it is to see you twice in 24 hours”. It came out of Castiel’s mouth as dull sarcasm, like it was an interesting thing but he didn’t really care. He hauled himself up onto all fours and then on his knees, rocking back on his toes. Half a cigarette was back in his mouth and he relit it as Dean watched and Crowley sat quietly, simply observing curiously.

“Listen Cas, I wanted to talk to you about last night”.

“Of course the offer still stands Dean; I can meet you in the toilets during class, or if you can’t wait I’m sure Crowley will leave us”, Castiel deadpanned his response, because while he was sure Dean would absolutely not take him up on his offer, it was still a completely legitimate one. Crowley could only smirk at the situation unfolding before him. Dean, on the other hand, blushed and looked to Crowley and down at his feet. Castiel narrowed his eyes, because from what he had heard of Dean Winchester, he did _not_ blush at sexual advances.

“No Cas, not that, it’s about what I said to you last night. I was having a bad day and you caught me off guard, so I’m sorry man”. An apology from this guy was the last thing he thought would come out of his mouth, and he tried really hard not to look utterly shocked, because Castiel hated showing weakness. Dean rubbed the back of his neck and looked uncomfortable as all fuck, and after a couple seconds of trying to wrap his abused brain around the situation, he gave Dean a smile. It wasn’t genuine, it was more of an ‘I’m-too-exhausted-to-give-a-shit-about-your-bipolar-attitude’ kind of smile, but he doubted Dean could tell the difference. He figured this was some sort of guilty conscience thing, and Castiel was all too familiar with men and their guilty fucking consciences when it comes to him.

The bell to signify the end of lunch sounded and the two boys stood up. Castiel walked the two steps to Dean, sucked it in the last breath of his cigarette and threw it on the ground. To Dean’s credit, Dean didn’t flinch at all when Castiel slowly blew the smoke out of his mouth and into Dean’s face, all the while staring into those fucking ridiculous eyes. Dean’s face was still serious, apparently still trying to show Castiel his apology was sincere, while Castiel decided to return it with a smirk. He let out a light chuckle as he began to speak.

“Don’t be sorry Dean, I am a fag. I’m so _faggy_ , in fact, I would have sunk my ass down on your cock in front of that entire club and fucking enjoyed it”. And Castiel walked past Dean, with Crowley following behind, leaving Dean a blushing and dumbfounded mess.

**________________________________________**

Castiel was sitting in the library during his free lesson with his head resting on what looked like an interesting book about Dante Alighieri. 15 minutes in to his study come sleep lesson he received a text message from Crowley.

**Crowley: Meet in bathrooms.**

The bathroom in question was down a connecting hall and was surrounded by rooms that were rarely used. The boy’s bathroom itself was usually fairly clean because it wasn’t the main one that was used in this area; there was a bigger and easier to access one further down the hall. Castiel and Crowley liked this one because of the privacy.

Crowley was by the slightly open window smoking and held out a cigarette for Castiel as he approached. They didn’t talk for a minute or two, they just enjoyed the way the smoke entered their lungs and spread throughout their systems and exhaled as grey smoke that filtered out through the window into the courtyard.

When Crowley had finished his cigarette he turned to Castiel.

“So, Dean Winchester”, he said with slight inflection at the end, hinting for Castiel to explain. Castiel took the last drag and flicked it out the window when he eyed Crowley. He narrowed his eyes for a moment before turning away. Crowley was most likely fishing for something he could one day use against Dean, and Castiel made it a point to never voluntarily assist Crowley in his information gathering. He was not one of Crowley’s idiots.

Crowley seemed to take the hint and raised his eyebrows in disappointment, before closing the gap between the two.

“Well, if you’re not going to talk then we should probably find another use for your pretty mouth”. Crowley ghosted his lips over Castiel’s in what he probably thought was a technique that would convince him to get on his knees, but Castiel didn’t need convincing. The voice that sparked up in his brain and asked him to consider what he was doing, what the pros and cons were, and how this really affected him, had drowned a long time ago.

Their lips were almost touching and Castiel looked down from Crowley’s dark eyes to his pink lips and ran his tongue swiftly along the skin, making the British boy groan in his throat. He looped a finger in one of Crowley’s belt loops and tugged him along into the stall at the end of the wall, furthest from the door.

Crowley didn’t waste time, and like always, already has his belt undone and was unzipping his pants as Castiel turned around from locking the stall door. Crowley lurched forward, pants slightly falling from his hips, and claimed his mouth hungrily. Castiel pulled back and looked at Crowley briefly before placing a chaste kiss on Crowley’s lips, but Crowley was having none of it and liked to be heavy-handed and dominant, so he recaptured Castiel’s mouth and assaulted it with his tongue and teeth. Castiel opened his mouth easily when Crowley’s tongue tried to breach and he let Crowley do want he wanted. That’s how it usually was. That’s how Crowley liked it and Castiel liked to please.

After a moment of clashing teeth and wet tongues sliding against each other, Castiel moved his hands down to Crowley’s waist and pushed his jeans and briefs down just enough to free his half-hard cock, the whole time trying not to separate their mouths. It was a practiced skill, really. Crowley broke the kiss and sat down on the closed toilet lid when his cock sprang free.

Castiel took this rare opportunity to look at Crowley in a state of vulnerability that probably no one else had seen him in; panting heavily with his flushed cock in the air and pants around his knees. Pride and power were what the British teen put above almost everything else, but right now, he was putting Castiel above even that. That made Castiel feel fucking special. And when Crowley reached up and tugged on Castiel’s arm, begging him to fall to his knees, he felt needed and wanted and he was almost scared how desperate he was for that.

Castiel spat in his right hand while his left hand ran up and down Crowley’s exposed thigh, and he grabbed Crowley’s cock at the base, ghosting his breath over the tip. He began to stroke lightly with his slicked hand, his mouth still mere millimetres from the tip, and he watched the rest of Crowley’s cock engorge with blood, now fully erect. He swiped his tongue over the head and slit of Crowley’s cock before taking the head fully in his mouth, swirling his tongue around and sucking.

Crowley moaned into his hand and leaned back against the white tiled wall of the stall, and Castiel glanced up, watching the way Crowley attempted to maintain control, his face turned red and eyes rolled back. Castiel revelled in the way Crowley needed him right now and it only made him work harder. Little groans escaped both boys while Castiel worked his mouth around his heavy length, a slightly salty taste on his tongue.

Crowley had moved one hand into Castiel’s hair and applied pressure, urging Castiel to take more of his cock, and Castiel was never one to say no. He could feel the round head of Crowley’s cock hit the back of his throat, and Crowley continued to push, so with one steadying breath through his nose, he took a deep swallow and pushed the head further down into his throat, past his gag reflex. It sat there for a brief moment before Castiel hummed and tried to swallow around it. He could feel Crowley’s growl spread from his throat to his feet.

Castiel made small back and forth movements which created friction against the throbbing cock, and he slid his tongue around the underside, feeling the veins. Crowley’s hand became tight in his hair and almost pulled it out, while he closed his eyes and threw his head back, other hand still firmly over his mouth muffling the vulnerable noises he was making. Castiel moved his slicked hand to the neglected balls and rolled them around, feeling them tighten up. He knew this was brief but they really didn’t have that much time.

He pulled Crowley out of his throat and continued sucking on the head, palming his balls before moving back up to the length he couldn’t reach without swallowing. He set a brutal pace with his hand, twisting it as he reached the top where his mouth was tonguing the slit and sucking on the head. He could feel Crowley grow tense around him and with one loud grunt from the teen, Castiel’s mouth filled with salty, thick liquid, squirting from the tip still in his mouth. He continued stroking gently as Crowley relaxed against the wall, hand still in his hair but not holding on tight, and once Castiel was satisfied he had milked absolutely everything, he swallowed the cum and rocked back on his heels to catch his breath.

He helped the wobbly Crowley stand up, pulling and zipping his pants up for him, and reached into his pocket and pulled out his cigarette packet. Castiel opened the door and walked to the sink, filling his hands with water and bringing it to his mouth. Not to wash his mouth out or anything, because he didn’t really care, but just to get rid of the sticky feeling. Crowley was still making his way out of the stall when Castiel walked to the window, lighting up and sucking in quickly. He was becoming too sober to be around Crowley for too long. Castiel was half-hard in his pants and neither he nor Crowley made any move to solve that problem the traditional way.

Castiel’s throat was sore but it was at the bottom of his list of pain complaints right now. After both had a quick cigarette, Castiel was almost flaccid again and checked his phone for the time. Yeah, he should be getting back to that book. He made a move towards the large door on the opposite side of the room when Crowley spoke up.

“I know you look for a temporary hit of love in everyone, but don’t look for love in Dean Winchester, Castiel. You don’t look like you can handle _that_ disappointment”. Castiel stopped walking and turned his body to face Crowley. He narrowed his eyes at the smug man before him.

“Don’t waste your breath on things you don’t care about, Crowley”, and the feeling Castiel got from reminding _everyone_ in that room that _no one_ in that room could give two shits for Castiel at all made his chest ache; all want and need that he received from Crowley not five minutes earlier had disappeared. And it was fucking fine, he thought, because that’s how it is and how it should be. Just temporary hits for Castiel. So he threw a shit-eating smile at that asshole, just daring him to push the point.

“Your usual will be available tonight, sweetheart”. Crowley didn’t care to push the point.

Castiel turned on his heel and left the room.

**________________________________________**

Unfortunately the rest of Castiel’s day didn’t go as smoothly and blankly as the start of the day. His headache was raging but it was finally alright because he was heading to the front doors of the school. He wasn’t sure if Michael was going to be waiting for him outside; he had insisted to pick Castiel up this morning despite Castiel declining, and he’s not sure who won that battle. Now that he thought about it, Michael must have thought he really did look bad to take him to school _and_ insist on picking him up.

He reached the bottom of the steps and walked towards the main road while he pulled out his cigarette pack and looked for Michael’s white car. He had an unlit cigarette in his mouth, the smell of tobacco wafting up to his noise, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He spun around wearily, because fuck he needed this cigarette and he was so not in the mood for any bullshit right now. The sun was reflecting on those ridiculous green eyes and it made them shine even brighter, so he just stood there, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and stared at them.

“Hey Cas”. Castiel chose not to respond, because he didn’t have the energy for three ‘hello Dean’s in one day, even if the first two weren’t strictly speaking _greetings_. “Right, er, I was just wondering if you were going out again tonight?”

Castiel took his _still_ unlit cigarette in his fingers from his mouth and rubbed his forehead in frustration. He didn’t understand what was happening and he really didn’t care what Dean was up to. If it was a joke, couldn’t he do it behind his back like everyone else?

“Maybe”, he hadn’t planned on going back to that club tonight, but he never really planned his nights, they just kind of evolve from one point to another and he rides the wave.

“Awesome, maybe I’ll see you there then. I'll try to make up for last night” and then Dean gave a big toothy smile that kind of felt genuine to Castiel, who only felt bemused at the gesture and felt his head tilt to the side, as Dean walked towards his black car that Castiel was so sure they could both fit horizontally in the back of.

Castiel has met a lot of closeted gays, and he realised it wouldn’t be much of a stretch for Dean to fit into that category.

Maybe he will go out tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love a bit of Cas/Crowley so I couldn't resist. Let me know what you think. Thanks!


	3. Chapter Three

So it turned out Michael wasn’t going to pick Castiel up. Which meant he had to walk home. And even though it was only a 15 minute walk, he needed a cigarette every five minutes just to make it through. And that unfortunately just made it harder to keep going, what with the needing to stop for breath frequently. He was all about the vicious cycles. And to make it worse, he ran out of cigarettes with a few blocks still to go. It took willpower he didn’t know he even had not to take a pill in his pocket, because he really did want to get to Crowley’s later and didn’t trust his intoxicated self to manage.

After finally walking in his front door, he went straight up to his bedroom and started undressing. He was pushing the boundaries of personal hygiene and it was almost making him uncomfortable, which was a real accomplishment for a guy that once woke up in a bed with someone else’s vomit and _went back to sleep anyway_.

Ten minutes of standing under the hot water went by and he’d already washed his hair and various body parts. He had no intention of getting out just yet, so he sat down on the slate tiles of his shower and brought his knees up to his chest, letting the hot water hit his head and run down his back and front keeping him warm. There was music playing from a speaker in the corner of the room, and even though he had it up quite loud, he wasn’t paying attention to the words. It sort of sounded like Fall Out Boy but he didn’t care. He just let it filter through his brain and he focused on his breathing.

By the time he stood up and turned the water off he had no idea how much time had passed. But with grey sweatpants and a black hoodie, a new pack of cigarettes and a smell of clean about him, he felt a million bucks. Well, not really a million. He’s not worth that much.

As he walked into the kitchen he could see Michael sitting outside on the phone and he made the selfless decision to pour two coffees on the way through. A foot blindly kicked open the French doors, mostly because his hands were full but also to give Michael fair warning he was coming out and would be invading any phone conversation he was having.

“I’ve got to go, Castiel’s just walked in. I’ll talk you later. Yeah don’t worry, bye”.

“Good afternoon Michael” Castiel said as he sat down at the table opposite Michael and slid a mug over.

“Thank you Castiel. How was your walk home?” and he said it almost like he hadn’t expected him to make it.

“Pleasant” but he involuntarily flashed back to a point halfway when he was leaning against a sign post and cursing himself for being so stupid. Michael smiled like he could see through the blatant lie.

The brothers spent the next two cigarettes in silence. Castiel replied to a few text messages he had gotten while in the shower, mostly from people asking what he was doing tonight and if he’d like to do this or that with them. He got one from a girl he’d met a few weeks ago asking him to hang out and watch a movie, which sounded so boring it was painful to even acknowledge, and he got one from Crowley saying any time after six if his knickers had unknotted.

“So Castiel, I thought maybe you’d like to get dinner tonight and we could hang out?”

Castiel looked up from his phone. He was in the middle of writing a text message to an aggressively in-the-closet guy about the possibility of meeting up this weekend. He generally avoids the closeted guys, especially the aggressive ones, but this guy is mean and rough and sometimes he needs a little bit of that.

He hoped the look he gave Michael adequately conveyed his confusion. Sometimes Michael and Castiel spent evenings together, but that was more of a coincidence than anything else; they just happened to both be home. If he had the energy he would scan his scattered memories for a time when they had actually planned an evening together and explain to Michael why it was a stupid suggestion.

“I’m going out”. Michael response was to laugh into his coffee cup, not looking up at him.

“Of course you are” and the weary, disappointed tone wasn’t lost on Castiel, “Where?”

“Out”.

Michael’s dramatic exhale was as good as defeat to Castiel. That was another thing the brothers had in common: they gave up easily in conversations they knew wouldn’t go anywhere productive. Unless they were emotionally charged, and that didn’t happen too often anymore.

“Perhaps I can cook something while you get ready and you can have some before you leave?”

Castiel checked the time on his phone. Honestly, he was itching to get to Crowley’s and take something, _anything_. And it didn’t really bother him how addicted to not being sober he felt. Best not to linger on such things.

“Why?”

“Because believe it or not, humans need to eat to survive”. Something else in common: using sarcasm as a way to avoid answering questions.

Castiel rolled his eyes and headed inside to get ready.

**________________________________________**

Castiel decided on dark blue denim skinny jeans with his chucks, and a grey sweater that had thick, black, horizontal tribal stripes across the front. With his pale skin and messy black hair, the whole look had a bit of a hipster vibe about it. Like his other sweater, this was oversized on his frame, but it was one of his favourites. Under the sweater was a black crew neck tee.

The sun was in the process of setting and cast a beautiful shade of orange over the deck. Castiel’s nose was met with a smell that made his mouth water before he even got in the kitchen, and when he did get in the kitchen, he approached it sceptically, like something big and nasty was going to jump him. It’s not like Michael’s never cooked for him before, but Castiel’s got the mother hen vibe, and the last time Michael sent out that vibe, it was a shitty time in Castiel’s life.

And when he did enter the kitchen, oh yeah, the mother hen vibes were loud and strong. Michael was standing outside, fussing around with the table. He had set it up formally, with bowls and plates and unnecessary cutlery for _pasta_. Two bottles of wine sat on the table, which even Castiel thought was overkill. A large bowl of pasta with a tomato base and two types of salad sat with them. And the worst part was that he was wearing a bright pink, frilly apron. Their mother didn’t even cook, where the fuck did he get that?

Michael was folding the napkins when Castiel stepped out.

“What’s happening right now?” His tone was dripping with distaste for the scene.

“Oh Castiel. Nothing, why? I just thought wine would be nice with the pasta”. The innocent smile he flashed was off-putting.

Castiel took a seat where Michael had set up and crossed his legs under him on the chair. He decided to drop the subject, because he didn’t have enough energy to expel on caring about this and if something was up, Michael would spit it out eventually. So he got out a cigarette while he was poured a glass of red wine.

Michael sat on the other side of the table and looked at Castiel, who was eyeing Michael suspiciously and exhaling smoke over the table.

“Do you mind angling your head away from the food?”

“I’ve always found the smoke enhances the food”. Michael rolled his eyes and didn’t put up a fight. He lit up a cigarette too, in fact.

Michael began dishing up pasta and salad with his cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and Castiel sat with his cigarette and wine glass in one hand.

“Are you going to eat?” he asked Castiel while he was still chewing his first bite.

Castiel reached across and picked a single baby spinach leaf out of the bowl in the middle of the table and put it in his mouth, giving Michael a ‘happy now?’ look. He swallowed and refilled his glass with the red wine, alternating between drinking and inhaling. He turned his body to the side and hung his legs over one arm of the chair, leaning his head back slightly. He could feel Michael’s unimpressed eyes on him, but he stayed silent.

“You picked a good wine” he offered into the silence.

“Well, I’m not a barbarian”. Both boys smiled.

Castiel was dangling his feet, swaying them back and forth when he finished his second glass. He straightened back up and checked his phone for the time.

“I have to get going now”, and as he stood up, Michael abruptly stood up too. Castiel stopped moving and stared at him expectantly. He could only flail in return, like he really didn’t think through what would happen after he stood. Maybe he thought Castiel wouldn’t stop. And normally he wouldn’t, but whatever was up with Michael was pissing him off right now and an explanation wouldn’t hurt.

“What time will you be home tonight?” It didn’t look like that’s what he wanted to say. Castiel rolled his eyes and began walking inside. Yeah, not a conversation he’s interested in.

“I don’t know” he called over his shoulder to his looming brother who was following behind like an annoying dog.

“Will you come home at all tonight?”

“I don’t know, Michael” he said with a little bit more venom this time. He doesn’t enjoy being pestered with stupid questions that are never normally asked.

“Will you be alright? I can give you a lift to or from where you’re going tonight?” They got to the front door and Castiel turned around to face Michael as he opened it. It sounded like Michael wanted to say something else, to further explain why the fuck he was asking these questions, but he couldn’t get the words out. The expression Michael had on his face was helpful cross concerned and it really just made Castiel angry, if anything. He’s not sure why it made him angry, and anger probably wasn’t the most appropriate emotion, but it shot up his spine as he stared him in the eyes.

“Fuck off Michael” he deadpanned as he closed the door. Michael didn’t follow. He wasn’t sure if he expected him to, but he didn’t spend any more time considering what the fuck was up Michael’s ass, because he was now walking to Crowley’s with anticipation.

**________________________________________**

Climbing Crowley’s side fence was always the worst part of seeing Crowley, because Castiel is just so disgustingly unfit, when he gets to the top he practically falls over the other side. But the front door is out of bounds due to the hatred Crowley’s mother throws at him. The last time she caught him in her house that wasn’t Crowley’s bedroom, she threatened to call the police if he didn’t fucking run. And he fucking ran; shirtless and shoeless but more or less unscathed. The hatred wasn’t really directed at Castiel, though; it was at Castiel’s mother. But he made a decent surrogate, apparently. And the verbal abuse he throws back at her any chance he gets doesn’t do anything to calm her down.

So his options are limited to using the stealth he doesn’t possess to sneak in the side door and through the house, or the agility he has even less of to climb the balcony to Crowley’s bedroom. His choice usually depends on his intoxication level, and so he usually enters through the side door.

He wasn’t sure if Mrs Crowley was home when he unlocked the laundry door and tip-toed through the house to the staircase. He couldn’t hear voices and there weren’t many lights on. He’s been told that Crowley’s father spends most of the year overseas, but he has met him a few times. Mr Crowley has even caught Castiel walking (sneaking poorly) through the house on more than one occasion, but unlike his wife, he gives Castiel a smile and walks on. A part of Castiel wonders if he overlooks it because he knows how upset it makes his wife. They seem to have that kind of relationship.

“Castiel” Crowley greeted him after he knocked twice on his bedroom door. Castiel walked into the pretty bland room. Not that his room was any better, but the small lounge setting, bookcases and desk made the room feel too cluttered for him, even though it was much larger. Castiel liked the emptiness and space his bedroom gave.

There was a small package sitting on the corner of the desk, where it usually sat. It was an A5 sized yellow envelope and he knew that inside that envelope the contents would be in a small plastic bag for him.

“Is it possible for me to pick it up tomorrow?” Castiel asked as he walked past the desk and sat on the two-seater black leather couch. The sliding doors to the balcony behind him were opened and he knew he was able to smoke in here. “I was thinking I’d go out from here”.

“You normally do go out, Castiel,” Crowley said while he stood at the desk with his arms crossed, “why is tonight different?” Crowley was very resistant to change, especially changes in usual agreed upon routines. He liked his deals to stay the way they were. And normally that worked well for Castiel.

“Michael is acting strange and I’m not interested in dealing with more of him tonight”. And that was part of the truth, because going all the way home and dealing with Michael would take more time than he cared for and he wanted to get high like three hours ago. “Obviously I’ll still pay you tonight”.

“Obviously”. Castiel was under no illusion that particular condition of the deal would ever change. And it’s not that the money itself was important, but he thinks it’s because if Crowley were to start bending those particular rules, he would be giving up some of his extremely valuable power and dominance. Crowley flexed his neck and considered the proposal for a moment while Castiel inhaled deeply, his eyes squinting with the action.

“Alright, Castiel” he finally said, and with one swift movement he threw the package to Castiel on the couch. He didn’t catch it. All he could really do was turn and flinch at the incoming object, and it collided with his shoulder and fell to the ground. Castiel gave him a confused look.

“I assume you’ll still want to take something tonight, though”. A huge grin spread across Castiel’s face, and even though Crowley’s smile was nowhere near as big, it was still there.

This arrangement between the boys had been going on for a few years now. Drugs, money, sex and acceptance. Crowley had never once expressed genuine distaste or condemnation at Castiel’s choices, and Castiel stays silent about the few dealings he knows Crowley to have. Acceptance, or maybe just pretending shit doesn’t happen, is a pretty vital component to this relationship.

Castiel doesn’t think about it too often because it makes him uncomfortable, but he’s never really quite understood what Crowley gets out of this. Castiel needs the drugs and Crowley is a safe way to get them. The sex is never a downside, even if it can be pretty one-sided at times. But Crowley doesn’t need the money he gets from Castiel, and he knows he can get the sex elsewhere. It makes Castiel feel like there’s an ulterior motive that’s going to appear when he least expects it and fuck him over in ways that he can’t imagine, because Crowley is very capable of such things.

But then sometimes Crowley gets this look on his face when he’s lying next to Castiel or telling Castiel something that he probably shouldn’t. There’s no one word to describe the look, it’s a funny combination of need, contentment and satiation. Castiel tries not to notice the look because it feels like he’s violating Crowley. So maybe Castiel is his outlet. Someone that he can trust, even though he knows the term trust is quite incorrect. Between the two of them, they don’t have a trusting bone in their body. And they both have good reasons for that.

Castiel opened the envelope and pulled out a plastic bag. Within that plastic bag were a few smaller baggies of pills in varying size and colour. He knew them all. The little round green pills were Valium, the round yellow ones were Ritalin and in the same baggie the round orange ones were Adderall, the round white pills were oxycodone and the long white ones were Ambien. Each time the pills vary, and he understands, because Crowley can’t just click his fingers and pills will appear in front of him. And Castiel doesn’t always use them all, so he does have a few spare ones at home for when he needs something a little different.

There was a pill he hadn’t seen before, though. It was round and blue and there were only two in the bag. He studied it for a moment and when he eventually looked up to question it, Crowley was now grinning.

“I thought I’d slip something extra in there for you” Crowley almost drooled out.

“What is it?”

His grin got impossibly wider. “It’s ecstasy, sweetheart,” and when Castiel didn’t jump up in excitement Crowley groaned, “look, just try it sometime and let me know what you think”. Crowley knew Castiel avoided ‘street’ drug, because he just didn’t trust idiots in their basements mixing impure chemicals. He couldn’t trust there was a Walter White behind each pill or bag of powder he consumed, so he didn’t consume them. If he wanted a high then he wanted it right.

Castiel placed all the baggies into the larger bag and back in the envelope, bar two orange pills. If he swallowed them now, it should be about 45 minutes to an hour before they hit him hard. And that sounds like a good plan, so that’s what he did.

Castiel got up and placed the envelope back on Crowley’s desk, then pulled out a small wad of cash from his back pocket. There were eight $100 bills folded in half, and he placed them under the envelope. Crowley didn’t count the money – he never did. Castiel could probably be short or over and Crowley wouldn’t care. Instead, he picked up the envelope and the money and walked over to his wardrobe.

Castiel knew about the safe at the back of the right hand side, behind his hanging pants. He’d seen Crowley open it a thousand times. When Castiel and Crowley got back in regular contact a couple years ago, after a few years of zero contact, Crowley would make Castiel leave the room while he put things in the safe. Maybe he was fearful Castiel would see the combination or would be tempted to tell people about its existence. But now, after a couple of years of the same routine, he’s relaxed quite a lot. Not only does he allow Castiel to remain in the room, but Castiel is sure he would be able to see the combination from the bed if he really cared. But he didn’t, so he never tried. He’d seen paperwork, envelopes and money in there.

“Are you seeing Winchester tonight?” Crowley asked from his crouched position in front of the safe. He closed the door and twisted the dial, then stood up and walked to sit with Castiel on the couch. He waited patiently for an answer while Castiel lit a cigarette.

“I won’t be going out of my way to make it happen”. Smoke casually flowed out of his lungs as he spoke. Crowley reached for his own cigarettes on the coffee table in front of them. He could admit that he got a little spark of excitement at the prospect of seeing Dean out, especially when Dean decided not to be a homophobic prick. But the excitement was purely because he was hot and he looked like a great fuck. And Castiel was sure he could show him a good time.

He started to drift off, thinking about Dean’s cock and what they would do together. Maybe in a dirty stall sitting on the toilet, or against the wall in the alleyway, or maybe he was a go back home kind of guy. Castiel didn’t like that with strangers so much because of the potential for a post-coital gay crisis. He’s learned the hard way it’s best to stay out of the way when men have a gay crisis, because a lot of them will compensate by being manly. Which translates to aggressive. And it doesn’t usually work out well for him; the guy that caused the crisis. He wondered what Dean would be like, whether he would freak the fuck out on Castiel, when he was brought back to the present by Crowley’s coughing.

“What will you be doing tonight, Crowley?” Crowley looked up at the ceiling while exhaling his first breath of nicotine. He seemed faintly exasperated.

“I have another meeting soon and then I’ll be doing some paperwork”. Castiel had his cigarette in his mouth, just sitting against his lips, while he mindlessly picked at his nails in his lap. He wasn’t really listening. Crowley didn’t party very often, at least not publicly, and he usually spent his evenings with associates, paperwork and/or ‘meetings’. Meetings were his way of saying something to do with drugs, or worse.

Crowley has never introduced Castiel to any of his associates. Not that Castiel really cares, but when he sees Crowley pull out his expensive alcohol for a man in an impeccable suit at midday and then telling another man at 3pm, who looks like he lives in a dumpster, not to touch anything for fear of death, he can get momentarily curious. Crowley never tells him to leave, though, only to make himself busy in another room. If his meeting is downstairs then Castiel will stay in Crowley’s room, and if his meeting is in his bedroom then Castiel will pick another room based on the location of Mrs Crowley in the house. The guest bedroom or on the floor behind the bar in the upstairs living room were his first options.

After the meetings Crowley would come and find Castiel, and his behaviour would always directly depend on how the meeting went. Too many times Crowley has come back into his room red-faced and fuming, sometimes throwing things across the room and yelling obscenities at anything and everything. Having sex immediately following a meeting wasn’t unusual, and Castiel has become quite skilled at detecting the difference between being fucked into the mattress from anger or from happiness.

At some point he realised he was getting too engrossed in his nails, and looked up to see Crowley staring at him.

“I’m going to call a cab” Castiel said as he pulled his phone out and unlocked it. Crowley stared at him and exhaled through his nose, and if heard Castiel he certainly didn’t acknowledge it.

Castiel told Crowley about Michael while he waited for the cab. About the cooking and frilly apron and generally weird behaviour he exhibited before he left.

“Michael has always been a bit of a moron, Castiel. His behaviour doesn’t surprise me”. Crowley had never been a fan of Michael, ever since Michael stormed into his house and demanded Crowley stay away from Castiel when they reconnected. The police were called, because Mrs Crowley was home and the opportunity to cause damage was too tantalising to ignore.

“It reminded me of his behaviour a couple years ago” Castiel mused. He thought he noticed Crowley’s back stiffen ever so slightly at that admission. Crowley just stared at him, with his face barely twisted like he was trying to decipher Castiel. Castiel wasn’t sure if it was because Crowley was worried about Michael making a repeat performance in his foyer, or if it was because they never really talk about everything that happened back then. Castiel shrugged his shoulders into the silence.

“I’m going to go wait for the cab outside, shouldn’t be long” he said as he stood. Crowley remained seated and still looked like he was deep in thought. Castiel stared at him for a moment.

“Oh yes, alright. Have a good night, Castiel” he said and his facial features relaxed. “Stay safe” he added as Castiel started walking. He kept walking, but shot Crowley a weird look over his shoulder. He wasn’t sure if Crowley had ever told him to be safe about a simple night out. Fucking weird.

Maybe it’s just him and his exhaustion that’s making people around him seem weird. Or maybe it’s just a weird fucking day for everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't look at me guyssss.
> 
> Thanks to anyone who reads this.


	4. Chapter Four

Castiel wasn’t sure how long he’d been dancing before he saw Dean. It didn’t feel like long, but he was well aware that his concept of time in a dark club while intoxicated was never to be trusted. There were no clocks inside, probably a strategic move, and he had no intention of pulling his phone out and calculating how long till he had to go home and, inevitably, come down.

Telling time in a situation like this was something of an art form; at around 4am the bar closes, and not too long before that the crowd builds for last drinks; at 5am the music is turned off and lights are turned on; and the sun rises sometime after 6:30am.

Castiel wanted to see Dean, for reasons he was still trying not to think too hard about, but he was currently fairly committed to dancing, and the Adderall was making it difficult not to give it his all to this song. The bright lights, vibrations and gyrating bodies were too enticing for Castiel to leave just yet. Dean looked content chatting to a girl over by the bar anyway, and Castiel didn’t want to interrupt. Not that he minds interrupting anyone else, it just seems to be Dean that makes him uncomfortable to annoy. Which wasn’t weird, he was just tired or something. Although, he really knew that wasn’t true.

_Fucking Adderall._

Castiel swiftly returned his attention to the guy attached to the hand on his hip. 

**________________________________________**

More time must have passed. Another drink was in his hand, a different guy was in front of him and he was moving his body to a different song on a different part of the dance floor.

Whoever this guy was, he was basically humping Castiel’s leg like a dog on heat, and sucking on his neck like a really awful vampire. They both had their hands on the others’ hips, but he was pressing so deep into Castiel hips it was as though he was looking for some magical button buried in his pelvis somewhere that would turn Castiel on. Boring and slightly annoying were the only real emotions flickering through him at this point, and the neck-sucking was not doing much to help his cause. A magical button would help the situation.

Castiel didn’t think twice about not opening his mouth when a tongue began to forcefully make its presence known, mostly because he was happy his neck was getting a reprieve. At least, that’s what he told himself must be the reason.

As they made their way to the bathroom, Castiel’s enthusiasm surprisingly picked up. His mind began to look at it like a task to complete, and he knew he could satisfy if given a chance. The door to the good stall was eagerly pushed open and Castiel was pushed inside. He caught a glimpse of a used condom in the bowl before the man sat down on the closed seat and began to hungrily unzip Castiel’s jeans.

Castiel was flaccid, but he didn’t expect anything different. The guy seemed a little disappointed by that revelation but took him in his mouth just as eagerly, if not more so, spurred on by the possible embarrassment that the neck-sucking didn’t achieve its desired goal. What a shocker.

Time apparently became a problem again for Castiel, because while it felt only minutes to him, his partner was red in the cheeks and out of breath each time he surfaced. It was like he was running a marathon, but the results from his efforts were less than favourable, because Castiel was only half-hard.

The way he made a grunting sound and roughly turned Castiel around probably meant that he was getting pretty angry at the lack of physical interest Castiel was showing. But it’s not like it was Castiel’s fault; he usually insists on doing all the work. Especially when he isn’t sober, because who knows how the various pills will affect his libido. It’s definitely easier to give than receive, and giving means he can be appreciated for what he is; good at sex.

Castiel was now facing the door, palms flat and ass sticking out. A hot tongue ran up from his perineum to his hole and pushed in rather quickly. The action had Castiel moaning and bucking backward onto the tongue, and now, finger. Maybe he was only half-hard, but that didn’t mean a tongue-fucking wouldn’t have his eyes rolling back into his skull.

The tongue eventually disappeared, but Castiel was only disappointed for a brief second, because another finger was added and the force of thrusting increased, more than making up for the loss.

The man behind him stood, while still thrusting two fingers in and up. The pads of his fingers found Castiel’s prostate and rubbed the small bundle of nerves, if somewhat harshly. If it weren’t for the Adderall making him hyper-aware, he honestly probably wouldn’t have noticed another hand digging into his pockets.

“Back, left” Castiel moaned, and the searching hand pulled out a condom and packet of lube as a third finger was added to his clenching hole. There was no easing in for this finger, either. The rate and force increased to a point where there was more than just the usual sprinkling of pain, and the lack of lube, barring a decent amount of saliva, wasn’t helping.

It had already occurred to him that this encounter was now almost exclusively about prepping Castiel for _his_ pleasure, and any pleasure Castiel gets is a bonus and probably unintended (and even unnecessary).

Apparently the condom was on, because the fingers retreated at once, and the blunt head of a cock was being pushed in, covered in cold lube.

Castiel was glad he didn’t expect any easing in, because otherwise the sharp snap of hips would have sent his knees buckling. He cried out in pain and pleasure (but really, mostly pain) while the guy stood still with his cock buried completely inside his ass. Castiel could feel hot breath on his neck.

Pushing the pain aside, Castiel was happy that finally he could bring some pleasure to this guy, despite really not caring for him at all. He knew that was an odd thought, and he wanted to bang his head against the door only mere inches away from his face to stop his brain thinking about it.

A slow, teasing pull out led to another thrust. This time less painful for Castiel, but no resting time was given between the next thrust and the one after that.

The pain eased significantly after a few thrusts, his body accommodating the intrusive cock. Castiel was finding the rhythm enjoyable at some point, but noticed a split second before the wandering hand of the guy that he was still _only_ half hard. 

Another loud grunt came from behind him, clearly pissed off that his skills weren’t doing much for Castiel.

“Fuck you” was moaned, and at that point maybe Castiel should have said something about how Adderall really decreased his ability to maintain an erection, but the movements of the other man caught him off guard.

Castiel’s right arm was yanked away from supporting his weight on the door, and simultaneously his head was pushed forward by the base of his neck. His face slammed into the filthy door, narrowly missing the rusted metal hook for hanging bags and clothes. Castiel managed to turn his face slightly from the impact, unconsciously not wanting his protruding nose to bear the brunt. Unfortunately that meant the corner of his eye was left in the lurch.

“What the fuck?” Castiel spat out, trying to push his face off of the door, but the force of the hand on his neck and the cock up his ass was proving difficult to counter. Not that his protest really mattered at this point, because judging by the cessation of thrusting and sobbing moans coming from behind him, the moment was over.

Now that he was spent, Castiel pulled his hips forward, anticipating little force, and the cock slipped out easily enough. He began to pull his pants up as he turned around to see the other man doing the same.

“What the fuck was that about?” Castiel asked, even though he’d already put two and two together, that somehow that was his punishment for not being aroused. But even as he asked the question, he knew he didn’t sound angry. He would tell himself it was because of the Adderall still in his system, making it difficult to feel negative emotions, but he knew that was also not true.

He didn’t get an answer, only a smug smirk as he pushed past Castiel, out of the cubicle and out of the bathroom. Castiel asked himself why he cared, and why he felt the need to ask the question he already knew the answer to.

He exited the cubicle and went over to the sink to assess the damage in the mirror. The bone just under his eye was red, and he figured it would start turning blue and purple soon.

“Can’t win them all” Castiel laughed under his breath. It wasn’t a nice laugh, like something friendly you hear after a wholesome joke. It wasn’t even snickering kind of laugh after a not-so-wholesome joke. It was a defeated laugh that makes you uncomfortable to hear from others, because it’s so heavily laced with pain you don’t know what to do with yourself.

Something twisted in his chest, but before his mind could race to connect _those_ dots, he hightailed it out of the bathroom and over to the bar for another drink or two. 

**________________________________________**

Castiel had lost count of the drinks. He didn’t even buy most of them, so being expected to remember how many you’ve had is unreasonable anyway.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Castiel offered as he stood next to Dean at the bar.

Dean’s response was a toothy grin and nod.

Castiel got Dean a beer, because he seemed like a beer drinker. Maybe it was stereotypical to connect beer with work boots and plaid shirts but Dean took the drink happily so no harm done. Castiel got himself a double vodka sunrise. It looked girly and innocent but packed a decent punch.

“Do you want to dance?” Dean yelled over the music. Castiel nodded his head and wrapped his hand around Dean’s, dragging him toward the dance floor. _Finally_ , his brain thought, _finally with Dean_. An excited flare shot up into Castiel’s throat, despite rarely getting excited over anything these days.

Perhaps it was because Dean was showing interest in Castiel beyond the usual “let’s fuck” that he almost exclusively gets. Dean even went out of his way to apologise for something that didn’t need an apology. Maybe all Dean wanted was sex, or to make fun of Castiel, and that’s fine because that’s all he’s good for and deserves. But on the off chance that Dean wrongfully thought of Castiel as more than dog shit, well, it would be a change of scenery for Castiel to try and live up to that. Even if it is brief and naïve and laden with disappointment.

Castiel’s feet caught on themselves as he was turning while dancing in front of Dean and he ended up falling back into the wall they were standing near. He didn’t fall far, and managed to stay on his feet, but it was at the point that he realised the alcohol was actually affecting him. He pushed off of the wall he was now leaning on and stood still with eyes closed, trying to determine how fucked he was. Yeah, he must have been dancing like a drunk fucking lunatic for a while now.

He felt hands on his shoulders and he opened his eyes to see Dean’s face staring sympathetically back into his, and he laughed and shook his head, hopefully conveying the thought that he wasn’t hurt. Dean dropped his head to laugh.

When he looked back up at Castiel, he removed a hand from his shoulder and made a gesture to his mouth that Castiel quickly picked up as a cigarette. Thinking about it, he realised he hadn’t had a cigarette in hours now, so yeah, one now would go down well.

They held hands as they weaved through the crowd towards the door and out into the fresh air of the street. They broke their hand contact as they walked (and in Castiel’s case, stumbled) close to the street light on the corner. Dean stood close to Castiel, and even reached out with his arms a few times it appeared Castiel was about to fall completely into the gutter.

Castiel knew there was silence between them, but the blood rushing in his ears was almost as loud as the club they were just in.

They got close to the corner where the light was and stopped. Castiel swayed like a leaf in the breeze, so he opted to lean against the brick wall while Dean stood in front. Castiel was digging out a small cigarette tin from his pocket, and when he eventually got it out and the cigarette between his lips, he looked up to offer Dean one.

“What the hell happened to your face?” Dean sounded shocked and ignored the offer of a cigarette. It must be turning purple now. Good timing.

Instead of answering, Castiel waved him off and pocketed the tin.

“Who did that to you?” Dean insisted.

“Some guys can be aggressive” Castiel slurred more than he intended and due to the way his voice sounded like someone had mutilated his vocal chords, his intended flirtatious sarcasm didn’t quite come across. “It doesn’t matter” Castiel added with another wave of his hand. Because it really didn’t and he really didn’t want to talk about it. Without the Adderall and possibly too much alcohol floating around, he was finding it difficult to push down feelings he can normally ignore.

He didn’t want to think about it.

He sucked in on the cigarette and leaned his head against the cool bricks, enjoying the way the nicotine seemed to relax him so quickly.

“Bullshit, Cas. Was it that guy you went into the bathrooms with?” Dean sounded angry. He’d had enough of angry men tonight, and that ache in his chest was thumping hard and loud at the anger he was hearing. “He didn’t hurt you did he?”

Why did Dean even care? No one should care. Castiel wasn’t worth the effort of care. And so what if someone hurt him? Like he deserves any better. Dean needs to get with the program, and Castiel was not in the mood to enlighten him. The thumping feeling in his chest and acidic, sickening feeling at the bottom of his throat was too overwhelming. Too many questions, too many emotions, too many thoughts he didn’t want to think.

It was all too fucking much and Castiel needed to find a way to stop this.

“No, I’m fine” Castiel pushed off the wall and started walking around the corner, “I think I’m gonna head home now”. The only reason he didn’t run was the knowledge that he would absolutely fall on his drunken ass and make an even bigger idiot out of himself.

Thump, thump, thump.

The ache in his chest was playing in tune to the thumping of his heart, and it was like someone beating a hammer on his sternum. He was fine, he’ll get over it, it’s nothing to complain about. It’ll all be fine if he can just get away from here and pretend it never happened.

“Wait Cas, don’t go” but Castiel’s mind was now basically on auto-pilot, and his set course was to get the fuck out of here because it’s just too fucking much. He drunkenly marched down the street to where he could see cabs parked. Cigarette long abandoned, it took two attempts to open the back door of the closest cab.

“I’ll see you at school Dean” Castiel threw over his shoulder as he climbed inside.

“Wait” Dean said as he held open the door. Castiel looked up at Dean and their eyes met. Castiel was briefly disappointed that he was too drunk to see the green colour of Dean’s eyes, but quickly shook his head at the idea that his eyes would have made him feel a little better. Crowley was right; something about Dean is not good for him.

And the thought of Crowley being right made the sickening feeling in his throat stronger.

“Don’t Dean” Castiel said quietly as he continued to shake his head. There was pain and shame, and not only was Dean somehow making it worse, but Castiel didn’t want Dean to see him like this. Which was weird for someone that normally doesn’t give two shits about what people see him do.

Dean must have understood the look Castiel was giving because he nodded and let go of the door.

Castiel managed to give the driver of the cab an address, before curling in on himself in the back seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I haven't updated in so long. If it's any consolation, I already have the next chapter almost finished. Comments are really appreciated because they let me know if anyone is even interested in this story (and consequently how much time I dedicate to it!). Please let me know what you think, or don't think, or whatever! Comments are appreciated period.


	5. Chapter Five

A really faint noise and some sort of forced movement is all that his brain could really register, but it was waking him up. Now that he was aware of the movement, however, he wanted it to stop, which meant he had to wake up and make it stop.

“CASTIEL” was suddenly shouted directly into his ear, and he scrunched his face up at the pain the voice caused in his head.

“CASTIEL WAKE THE HELL UP” and for some reason all he could really do in response was continue scrunching his face up in, what was undoubtedly, a very unattractive look, and make a very pathetic noise in his throat (that doesn’t quite make it out of his mouth because it felt glued shut).

“Castiel, c’mon time to wake up” was spoken this time more gently, but the shoving of his body continued mercilessly. So he painstakingly tried to roll away from the shoving, curling in on himself to the side. Unfortunately the movement triggered pain in some area near his ribs and he ended up groaning and opening his eyes. Because apparently shooting pain for an unknown reason means your body automatically wants to see what is in the environment that could be causing this. It also means that his eyes shot open and painful, painful, bright sunlight streamed in like fucking laser beams.

Naturally his normal groan turned into a really tortured, whiney groan that you’d expect from a dying animal and his eyes snapped shut faster than if you saw your parents gettin’ it on.

“Castiel? C’mon darling, let’s get you up”. British, right, it was Crowley then.

“No” was dragged out of Castiel’s mouth, through the glue (or what he kind of hoped was, but knew wasn’t, glue).

“You can’t sit out here in the sun, in your own filth all day”. Castiel really wanted to ask why not, because as he was currently in the sun and apparently his own filth, it really didn’t feel as bad as what moving felt. The words, however, didn’t make it from his brain, to his vocal chords and out of his mouth, so Crowley began to roll and shove upwards into a sitting position. (Actually the words had probably barely formed in his brain before Crowley began his movements, so he had no chance anyway.)

“Nhhnnn please stop” was sobbed out of Castiel’s throat because of the shooting pain in his left side and the general pain he felt all over, and Crowley did stop. Castiel’s back was leaning against Crowley’s knees at a very low angle, but his protesting abilities were weak at this point.

“Castiel we’re just going to sit up, it’s fine” and then Crowley continued to push Castiel’s back up until he was sitting up straight. In all fairness, half way up Castiel did begin to put in some effort and reached out his hands to stabilise his body. When he was straight, he drew in his legs and leaned forward, hiding his face in his palms.

“Do you know how close I was to calling an ambulance? Or worse, Michael?” Crowley spoke calmly and evenly, all traces of the yelling and gentle encouragement gone.

Castiel opened his eyes and began to properly adjust to the sunlight now. His head was pounding and the light was making it no easier, but it seemed as though he would eventually need to actually see again, so he may as well open and adjust now.

He was currently staring at a fence. It was a tall, black fence, and it took Castiel a few beats to realise it was Crowley’s side fence that he usually scales to get access to the house.

“You may have fallen off the fence” Crowley said in a way that made Castiel think he was saying it more to himself than informing Castiel. Castiel processed the thought slowly, moving his head from the fence to Crowley as he heard him speak.

“It feels like it” Castiel offered, but the words came out in a whisper because his throat felt so clogged his voice couldn’t find its way through. He tried clearing his throat, which felt something like what he would imagine gargling with glass would feel like.

Castiel dropped his eyes from Crowley and realised they were both sitting in vomit, which was most definitely Castiel’s vomit. It was all over his clothes, and he realised that the slightly wet and slightly stiff feeling all over his face meant his face was also covered in it. But the fact that Crowley was voluntarily sitting in it was something new. Although he supposed Crowley would happily sit in vomit if it meant ambulances and Michael in his backyard were avoided.

“Alcohol and Adderall, Castiel”, Crowley clicked his tongue and shook his head, “you know better than that”.

Honestly, Castiel had no decent response to that comment, because he really did know better than to mix Adderall and heavy alcohol consumption. He knows that Adderall masks the alcohol until it wears off, and then in one foul swoop you’re so absolutely wasted you can’t physically see. In fact he can even remember considering his alcohol consumption last night, but ploughing ahead anyway. So yeah, no decent response, so no response given at all except to avoid all eye contact with what he knew would be the smug face of Crowley.

“Let’s get you cleaned up then” Crowley sighed and stood, offering both hands to Castiel.

Castiel standing up probably looked something like a human bambi. And the first few steps he took would make a newly-walking baby embarrassed. And Crowley crowding around him, prepared to catch him (or at least try to make the fall less painful) kind of made it fucking weird. A human-baby-bambi covered in vomit (and God knows what else) was actually made uncomfortable by the caring attitude of Crowley. So much so, he actually told Crowley to stop when they’d walked a few paces. Crowley was so stunned by the order (perhaps because Castiel never really told him what to do, or because he didn’t know he was doing it) that he stopped in his tracks, readjusted his dirty tie, and gestured for Castiel to continue ahead of him towards the back door.

Walking up the stairs wasn’t easy, between the pain shooting up his side and the dizziness from his headache and probable dehydration, it’s pretty remarkable he made it up without falling back down. He gave himself a little smile when he made it to the top, because dammit he was momentarily proud. But only for a moment, until he realised he was proud of himself for walking up a flight of stairs.

When they reached Crowley’s bedroom door, Castiel stood to the side to let Crowley open the door. Castiel was brought up being taught that it was rude to open doors in a house other than your own without explicit permission, and even though he spends a fair amount of time here, it’s also a respect thing he has for Crowley. And it’s probably a power thing that prevents Crowley from giving Castiel permission to open the door. At least Crowley reluctantly gave Castiel permission to sneak in the side door, but he still always knocks on the bedroom door or balcony door.

Castiel followed Crowley into the ensuite to the left and all but collapsed on the toilet. He cradled his head in his palms, still feeling the moistness of vomit on his skin, and kicked off his shoes. The cold tiles under his sweaty feet were a welcomed relief.

After what felt like definitely not long enough, Castiel heard water running and removed his palms from his face to see Crowley walking away from the now turned on shower in nothing but a white t-shirt and navy blue briefs. His trousers, shirt and belt were hanging over the side of the laundry hamper, and his shoes sat beside it looking as filthy as Castiel felt.

“Hurry up Castiel, I don’t have all day and didn’t factor in two showers into my morning routine” he said without looking at Castiel, and continued to remove the last two articles of clothing. Castiel sighed at the upcoming movement, reached down to the hem of his shirt and pulled it up over his head. His hands froze over the top of his head as a groan was forcefully ripped out of his throat at the pain this action caused, but he proceeded to remove the shirt slowly anyway. He dropped the clothing on the floor before managing to stand up and unzip his pants, pulling them and his briefs down to the ground. He stepped out of them, pulling his socks off in the process.

Castiel walked into the shower and stood directly under the hot water with his eyes closed until he needed to move out of the spray to breathe again. When he eventually opened his eyes to find the shampoo (because he undoubtedly had vomit in his hair), he glanced at Crowley to his left who was staring at his body. Instinctively Castiel looked down at his body to see if there was anything worth looking at, and aside from the anticipated bruising on his side, there were also finger-shaped red and purple bruises on his hips and lower back. More of last night came dribbling back to Castiel as he scrunched his eyes up briefly, before shaking his head and reaching out for the shampoo.

Much to Castiel’s pleasure, Crowley said nothing, and Castiel avoided Crowley’s gaze for the rest of the shower. Nothing was said during the entire shower, either, which wasn’t exactly abnormal, but it’s not like this was an everyday occurrence between them. Of course showering together happened frequently when Castiel would visit (although sometimes Crowley would tell Castiel to shower separately, and Castiel would shrug his shoulders and wait his turn), but finding Castiel unconscious in his backyard, in a pool of vomit and covered in bruises wasn’t standard and he figured a few questions would be conjured up in Crowley’s mind. But when no questions were asked, Castiel was quietly thankful, because he hadn’t prepared any of his answers yet. Maybe Crowley just expected this behaviour from Castiel, and he could use his imagination regarding the events of last night that led to this morning.

Crowley exited the shower first, turning off his side of the double shower, grabbing a towel from under the basin and walking into the bedroom with it wrapped around his body. This left Castiel alone to stand under the hot water with his eyes closed, breathing in and out slowly. He was tired. Sore and tired. Everywhere hurt, from his ankles to his ass, from his face to his fingers, and the hot water didn’t seem to be helping much anymore. So he too exited the shower and donned a towel while walking into the bedroom.

“I’m meeting with someone downstairs in a minute. I won’t be long. You know where your spare clothes are” Crowley said to him as he finished buckling his belt. Castiel stood in his black towel and watched as Crowley sat down to tie his shoes , then walk out of the room without a tie on.

It was sort of funny that Castiel had something of a drawer of clothes at Crowley’s. It’s what he’d heard people in relationships do before they move in with each other. Of course it was all for practicality’s sake, as leaving in dirty clothes or borrowing Crowley’s clothes wasn’t an appealing option, it only made sense to leave a shirt and pair of pants here for this exact kind of occasion.

When Crowley re-entered the room after about 15 minutes, Castiel was lying on his back across the leather couch with his legs bent at the knee, in sweat pants and a t-shirt finishing up a cigarette. His black hair was still slightly wet, leaving a small puddle on the seat, and he had his eyes closed. The nicotine hadn’t exactly helped the pain he felt, but he knew better than to rummage through Crowley’s room for pills that he knew were there.

“How are you feeling, angel?” Crowley asked from the other side of the room. Castiel gave a defeated groan, sucking in what he expected to be the last drag of his third cigarette so far. He could feel the hot smoke travel down into his lungs, imagining it burning and attacking the alveoli in his lungs, and he held it there as long as he could before it came billowing out his nose.

“These will help” Crowley said, suddenly sounding much closer than before, and Castiel opened his eyes to see Crowley standing near his head holding two pills in his outstretched hand. He sat up straight with pained effort and pinched the little pills with his fingers from Crowley’s palm and slid them between his lips, not even looking too closely at them or asking what they were. Crowley sat down on the newly vacated side of the couch.

“So what happened to your pretty face, love?” he asked as he stretched his arm along the couch behind Castiel’s back.

Ah yes, he was referring to the bruised eye Castiel was currently sporting. He had admired it in the mirror after the shower, recalling small parts of his encounter with that asshole.

“I fell” Castiel shrugged, staring off into the distance.

“You’re lying” Crowley replied smugly. Castiel smiled, a big toothy smile, but his eyes weren’t bright and joyful. No, the smile wasn’t a happy smile; Castiel hasn’t had a happy smile in a long time. The smile was deflective, and somewhat mischievous, and he supposed Crowley could see right through to those motives.

Castiel turned his body so that his knees were on the couch and began crawling towards the British teen. Crowley’s eyes were fixated on Castiel, and watched as he moved into his lap. Castiel straddled his thighs, knees against the back of the couch, and rested his forearms on Crowley’s shoulders, moving their faces closer. Crowley’s hands instinctively went to Castiel’s thighs, gripping slightly.

“Does it detract from your arousal?” Castiel breathed onto Crowley’s lips.

“No” Crowley stated firmly, eyes flickering between Castiel’s mouth and eyes.

“Then why do you care?” Castiel was satisfied when Crowley didn’t respond to that question. He huffed a small laugh, which was felt on Crowley’s lips, and closed the distance between them.

It was just a touch of lips for a while, something that could be misconstrued sweet, until Crowley swiped a tongue over the seam of Castiel’s lips and they parted easily enough. Crowley’s tongue vigorously explored Castiel’s mouth, while Castiel’s tongue feigned interest.

It was when Crowley’s hands reached around to Castiel’s lower back, and pushed down into his pants that Castiel opened his eyes. He wasn’t wearing any underwear, and upon learning this fact, Crowley moaned into Castiel’s mouth.

Crowley’s finger traced along the crack of Castiel’s ass and that’s when Castiel’s mouth stopped moving and participating altogether. A second or two later, Crowley also stopped all movement, pulling his mouth away from Castiel’s, and opened his eyes.

They stared at each other for a good 20 seconds, catching their breath, before either spoke.

“Castiel?” Crowley said tentatively.

“Yes?”

They continued staring at each other, like it was a bit of a cat and mouse contest. Crowley didn’t want to ask why he stopped, or guess what the problem was, and Castiel certainly wasn’t going to admit to anything. Neither boy was going to air the laundry.

Honestly, Castiel didn’t know why he stopped. He didn’t understand why his throat started constricting and why his anxiety levels skyrocketed to a point where he felt like vomiting or running. And now he wasn’t sure why a small part of him wanted Crowley to ask if he’s alright or if something was wrong. He really wouldn’t even have a good reply to any of those questions; it would probably be something snarky that would make Crowley pissed and regret asking, and then Castiel would regret his response and everything would turn to shit. He knew all this, but still wanted Crowley to say something; _anything_. But as Crowley and Castiel looked at each other silently, Castiel confirmed what he already knew, that Crowley certainly wouldn’t be asking anything.

So instead Castiel smiled again, with equal lack of actual happiness, and sat up on Crowley’s knees to move back off the couch.

“I have to get going” lie, “things to do” lie, “Michael is probably waiting for me” probably true. Castiel picked up his phone, wallet and still filthy shoes.

Crowley was still sitting on the couch staring at the receding figure of Castiel.

“Goodbye Castiel” he heard in the distance as he moved through the doorway. He’d closed the door behind him before he could reply.

He did his best impression of a jog downstairs and to the front door. Once he was out on the street he stopped to catch his breath, considering his options. He looked down at his bare feet and shoes in hand and decided he really did have to go home. He could use a good sleep. He just hoped he could avoid Michael for as long as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I am insanely apologetic for how long it has taken me to update. But since I last updated I have graduated from university, gone on a long holiday all around Europe, and came home to my mother in ICU. And then I already had most of this chapter written but when I came back I decided I didn't like it at all and completely rewrote it (same plot, just written very differently). Again, I am really sorry. Aside from work, I don't have much else happening in my life for a while so I'm hoping updates will become more regular now.
> 
> Comments/kudos/bookmarks/views are all very appreciated. Cheers :)


	6. Chapter six

The next time Castiel woke up it was dark out. He flipped over onto his back and just laid there, staring up at the ceiling, figuring out where he was in space and time. His phone revealed it was 8:30pm Saturday night, which meant he slept all day since arriving home from Crowley’s and crawling into bed, praying to have a nightmare-free sleep. Which is exactly what he got, and he was eternally grateful for it.

With great trepidation Castiel sat up and swung he legs over the side of the bed. Not one single part of him didn’t feel sore and stiff, but worst of all was his cheek and ribs, which must be heavily bruised and black right about now. He couldn’t really find it in him to be upset or angry about either one of them, though. Instead just absorbing the pain and hoping it didn’t restrict him too much.

After going to the bathroom and staring at himself in the mirror for a solid five minutes, trying not to let his thoughts wander back to this morning with Crowley, he made his way downstairs for food and water.

It didn’t seem like anyone was home, and the house was extremely quiet and dark. The only source of light came from the fridge when he opened it, scanning for food that cooks quickly. He eyed pasta before realising it must have been the copious left-overs from Michael’s attempt at family dinner last night. A pang of guilt hit him in his stomach when he pulled it out and walked over to the microwave.

He ate silently, sipping on water after every mouthful. His phone laid untouched on the kitchen counter, not really willing to look through it and be social at all right now.

After he eating as much as he could stomach, he emptied his bowl and then stood in the kitchen wondering what he should do with himself. Normally he goes out, it is a Saturday night after all, but it didn’t feel like he had the energy. Something inside him just wasn’t up for it. It’s usually all water off a duck’s back for him, but something felt off, and because he didn’t want to analyse it at all, he put it down to being exhausted and letting his run of partying go on for too long this time.

Instead of going to bed Castiel decided he’d watch some TV. There was nothing really on, but the noise comforted him anyway. About an hour after he settled in on the couch, the front door opened and Michael stepped into the room. He fixed Castiel with an odd look.

“Oh Castiel, you’re home”. It wasn’t a question. Michael just stared at Castiel like he couldn’t quite figure out what was happening.

“I do live here, Michael”. He tried for some Castiel-worthy sarcasm but it came off a bit more exasperated and tired than anything else.

“Is it not Saturday night? I don’t think you’ve been home on a Saturday night in… years”.

“I didn’t feel up to going out” Castiel replied, and Michael’s face went from comically confused to just confused. Like it was so far-fetched that Castiel could possibly ever stay home on a Saturday night.

But then Castiel thought about it, and realised that perhaps he really hasn’t every been home on a Saturday night in a very long time, and maybe Michael has valid reason to look concerned.

“Are you alright?” Michael asked, still wearing a concerned look, and edging further into the room where Castiel sat on the couch.

“Yes Michael, I’ve just had a few heavy nights and figured I deserved a break”. It sounded legitimate but felt like a lie on his tongue that hung in the air uncomfortably, putting pressure on his head and chest. He dropped eye contact with Michael, opting to look at his hands, hoping it would make him feel better but somehow making it worse.

“What happened to your face?” which Castiel had forgotten about again, and probably explains a lot of the concern Michael was still showing.

“Oh you should see my ribs” he offered with a grin, realising as he spoke that comedy was probably not the right tact for easing Michael’s worry, which was 100% confirmed when he made eye contact again and Michael looked distressed. He didn’t know how to take back those words and he knew he’d probably stick his foot further in it so he dropped eye contact again and hoped Michael would just rack it up to Castiel being Castiel.

Michael’s edging had brought him to the couch and he sat down slowly. Unconsciously Castiel moved almost imperceptibly away from Michael, and although it felt like millimetres, it was enough for Michael to notice and his distressed look turned into something akin to anguish.

Castiel felt too exhausted to fight or be his usual sarcastic self, which was upsetting because that wasn’t normal and he couldn’t explain it. If he thought about it he could probably explain it, even if the explanation would be unpleasant, but he really didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want make realisations about where his life was at right now. He knew it wasn’t good and that was enough. Maybe even too much.

It looked like Michael was internally fighting with himself and it made the pressure around Castiel grow when he realised Michael must feel like he was walking on egg shells around him. That this was his life, where his brother was so scared of saying the wrong thing and frightening off Castiel like a wounded kitten. And that thought only made him groan and bring his legs up to his chest for support and a place to hide his face. This is why he didn’t like to think about things.

“Castiel” Michael began, placing his hand softly on Castiel’s shoulder. It made him want to cry and scream and drink till it felt alright again.

He stood up quickly before Michael could figure out the rest of his sentence, shocking him with the abrupt movement.

“Drink?” Castiel asked blindly into the room, intending for it to be a question but coming out more like a statement instead.

Castiel had already taken off into the kitchen and didn’t hear Michael’s “What?” in response.

He was pouring a drink by the time Michael caught up with him, and while he tried desperately not to, Castiel made awkward eye-contact again. It was just more anguish on Michael’s face, and wondering how much he’d have to drink forget this was happening was all he could think about right then as he tipped his drink back and closed his eyes.

“Castiel, did something happen last night?” Michael almost whispered into the space between them.

Now it was Castiel’s turn to say “What?” while Dean’s face plummeted into his field of vision.

“It’s just...” Michael looked like he was struggling to find the words “... you’re all beat up and acting strangely and –“ but before Michael could finish that thought, Castiel interrupted, because wherever this was going he could definitely not handle.

“I’m fine Michael, everything is fine, don’t read into it” he deadpanned, staring straight into his brother’s face hoping to convey his usual sense of charm.

“I know what ‘fine’ means Castiel, it means things are shit and you’re struggling, so don’t give me ‘fine’” he said in a slightly raised voice.

Castiel didn’t know if Michael’s minor outburst made him angry or more depressed or an uncomfortable mixture of both, and as such he didn’t know how to respond. It was like every emotion trying to fit through the door at once, resulting into nothing. Absolutely nothing. So Castiel just stood there, still holding his now empty glass, staring at Michael while Michael stared back, with a pleading look in his eyes.

“I want to help you, we all do, but none of us know how... or what we’re even trying to help with. I always thought giving you space and time to deal with everything that has happened to you in your own way was the best thing, but when you come home intoxicated and broken I feel like I’ve done you wrong” and the way Michael said ‘broken’ really did break something inside of Castiel.

Castiel slammed his empty glass on the kitchen bench, which caused Michael to jump.

“Just leave me alone Michael! Nothing has happened, nothing is wrong and I said I am fine! I don’t need you hovering over me like an injured baby! Just fuck off!” And with that Castiel elbowed past Michael and stormed up the stairs, refusing to acknowledge the tears threatening to pour from his eyes.

He didn’t know if Michael said or did anything after he took off, he was too focused on getting into his room and making himself believe what he said was actually true.

The door slammed shut behind him and he ran his hands through his hair, tugging harshly as he looked around his room. He spotted what he wanted and before he knew it he was tipping a small tin on an angle until enough pills tumbled out onto his palm. He tossed them into his mouth and swallowed them down with water from a bottle he found under his bed. Castiel crawled under the blankets, allowing them to consume him, followed by the pills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I all but decided to give up on this but then got some inspiration the other day. I really love this Castiel. We'll see what happens!


End file.
